The Assistant
by Ruthless
Summary: On hold.Mrs Lovett gets sick of the body count,so decides Sweeney needs an assistant.Who better to help out,& draw ever deeper into their world, then dear young Toby& how will Mrs Lovett's new attempt at opening Mr Todd's heart and starving off his lonlyn
1. Chapter 1

_Hey. Sorry about the short chapter, and any spelling mistakes, but I had to get it down before the plot-bunny flew my brain. Others are likley to be longer. If you R&R, it's even more likley. So anyway, read and enjoy. ( and review? )_

**The Asistant.**

"Mr T, I think we need ter have a little chat," it was Mrs Lovett's voice, far more than than the sound of the bell above the shop door, that drew Sweeney's attention from the view of the cold, grey streets of London far below.

Silently, he turned his black gaze onto her, the only glimmer of emotion withen them, anger at being interupted. Even with all the practise that she'd had at meeting the gaze of the man who had once been Benjamin Barker, she somtimes still found herself almost pulling back from him.

"What is it?" He half- snarled, plunging as he did, more and more frequently, into the depths of his rage.

That was all that there ever seemed to be these days. Rage, which simmered just under the surface of everything, and was always ready to reveal it's self. A rage, which could only be washed away by bathing his razors with crimsom red. Anger . . . And below that, of course, the lonlyness that had followed at his side ever since the day he had been deported.

"What is it?" He asked again, this time with a little less of the snarl.

Mrs Lovett gathered up he corage, "I been keepin' count, Mr T. Tha's six out of twelve. For ev'ry two customers that have gone up here today, only one has come back," she mentally cringed at how her voice sounded to her own ears. Did she honstly sound as anoyed as she thought she did?

If the way the hardness returned to Sweeney's gaze was anything to go by, then the answer was definatly a yes.

"And?"

"If you keep it up," she said, running her hands through her hair, before taking a stance, and placeing them on her hips, "then someone's bound ter notice, luv. And besides, there's only so much meat tha' even I can use."

The only reply that she got was a grunt.

"From now on, I'm gona be sendin' Toby upstairs ter help ya out. It's abou' time that someone started ter teach that boy a trade other th'n pissin' inter bottles, an'what better then shavin'? And besides, it'll keep 'im out o' the gin."

Sweeney's face twisted into an expression of pure fury, and his hand twitched towards his waist, where one of his razors always resided, "And how do you supose that I'm meant to get anything done with that nosey little basterd standing in my shadow?"

It was quite an effort for Mrs Lovett to keep herself talking, even if she was getting used to his tantrums, "He can come back down ter help me at 'noon fer a few hours. You'll jus' have ter get yer business an' the like done then. Then he'll be commin' back up 'till it's eve."

"And what makes you think, that if you send him up to _help, _that it will be the stairs he comes back down?" Sweeney's voice had turned deadly quiet, so that Mrs Lovett had to almost strain her ears to catch the words. The hand that was near the blade at his waist, was almost automatically, running loving fingers over the back of it's case.

"Cause if he don't, " she said, crossing her arms over her chest, a firm expression on her face, "Then when you come down them there stairs yer won' be findin' me down 'ere."

She knew, that for the mean time it was somthing that she could get away with. At the moment, even as reluctent as he was to admit it, he still needed her.


	2. Chapter 2

Just as Mrs Lovett had expected, Toby wasn't any fonder of the idea of sitting up in that dank, cold shop then Mr Todd was of having him there. As she looked at the lad's shocked expression she lightly ran her fingers over the bruise on her shoulder, which Sweeney had given her, when he went to get her out of his shop. Looking back at how pissed off he had been yesterday, she was probably lucky that was all she had come away with. 

"But mum," Toby's voice broke into her thoughts, "I thought today was market day."

"It is, m' dear, but goodness knows tha' I've managed ter get by on 'em by meself before, an' I'll manage just as well today."

"Mr Todd scares me, " Toby said, giving one last attempt at getting out of helping the barber, even though he knew that it would be pointless.

Mrs Lovett glanced at the boy, "Well then. No beta way ter get ov'r it, lad. So, soon's you've finished breakfast you're ter get yerself up them there stairs. An' take this up ter Mr T with ya," she said, indicating a plate with a couple of pieces of warm toast on it.

Toby sighed, as he faced the long flight of stairs, and began to climb them.

Sweeney groaned to himself as he watched the small figger of Toby coming up the stairs towards his shop. That blasted woman had actually followed through with her threat. For a few seconds his gaze drifted from the boy, to where his friends rested in their oak box, hungry for crimson. It was tempting.

Todd shook his head, as the small bell above his door jangled, announcing the boy's entry. This time, he would have to deny his friends, and himself, their hunger. Because if Mrs Lovett had followed through with sending the boy up, then it was certain that she was prepared to pack her bag if he didn't return. Or, possibly, his bags.

"Mister Todd?" The boy voiced softly. There was an obvious, although slight, tremor in his voice.

Todd flicked his gaze over the lad. He was rather pale, and it didn't take a second glance to be able to see that it wasn't only his voice that was shaking.

Toby was looking at everything else in the shop, in a rather remarkable attempt to avoid staring at the barber.

"Sir? "Toby spoke again, this time holding up the plate that he had bought with him, "Mrs Lovett made this for you, for your breakfast."

Sweeney snatched the plate out of the boy's hands, making a grunting noise in the back of his throat as he did so. Then, moving on automatic, he took a couple of bites from one of the pieces, before slamming the plate down his table, sending a crack blossoming through it's centre.

Toby swallowed hard. The pale barber was obviously in a bad mood. Through-out the whole performance, he had remained hovering uncertainly the doorway to the shop. Sweeney turned his attention back to the boy. It was his usual snarl that was in place on his face, but the rage glistening in his eyes seemed far less restrained then it usually was.

"Well, what are you still standing there for?" he snapped.

He pointed to the trunk in which his few, meagre belongings had been stored, "Sit yourself down on that. And don't even think about touching anything else."

The boy just about tripped over his own feet, in his haste to obey, and not enrage the barber any further.

He hadn't even been sitting for five minutes when the bell went above the door again. Until he glanced up, he had been hoping it was Mrs Lovett, come to say that she had changed her mind. But it wasn't. Instead, a rather posh-looking gentleman, wearing a black top hat and coat came into the shop. He had just the sort of arrogance in his expression that reminded Sweeney of the Judge. This man would have had his throat slit the moment he sat down. If he had been alone...

Of course, there was always the excuse of having slipped, but he knew Mrs Lovett would know the truth. And the boy... He knew that he wouldn't believe the lie.

He gave the boy a sidelong glance, "Toby, his hat and coat if you please. On the stand by the door, if you please," it seemed to take a lot of effort to keep his tone civil.

Toby was up and moving the moment Sweeney finished talking. The man removed the aforementioned items, and handed them to the boy. After Toby had taken them, he extended his hand to Sweeney.

"The name's Lore, my good man. Lore Martin, and I've heard from several people that you're considered to be one of the best barbers in all of London. 

Sweeney ignored the outstretched had, and instead placed an insistent hand on the man's shoulder, and guided him to the chair in the middle of the room. After he had lowered himself into the chair the barber smiled slightly, "So, what will it be today?"

Toby started to move back towards the trunk, but was stopped short by a look from Sweeney.

"Yes, Mr Todd?" He asked. With the presence of someone else in the shop he managed, for the most part, to keep his voice calm and even.

"Stand over there," he gestured to the opposite side of the table, "and make sure you pay attention," the barbers black eyes hinted dark suggestions at what would happen if he didn't. And none of it would be nice.

"Simply a nice, close shave please," the man said, bringing all attention back to himself, "I don't want any sign of stubble left, as I've an important luncheon to attend this afternoon. "

"Of course," the barber muttered as he began to froth the suds that were sitting in the bowl on his table. Only Toby seemed to notice the dark undertone that his voice held.

Sweeney grabbed a cloth and spread it evenly out, over the man's shirt, and then grabbed the freshly prepared brush out of the bowl of suds. With an easy, practised movement he spread the suds out across the man's face and the top of his neck.

Then he glanced towards the velvet-lined oak box that his razors rested in. After a few moments of thought he selected one of the smaller, slightly less used blades out of the box. He flicked it open, and his fingers rested fondly around the handle, before he drew it along a leather strop a few times. It was quite a nice one, but it weighed a little less then the others, which had to be compensated for, with increased pressure.

After he had finished sharpening the blade, he rested it against the man's cheek, and with a much practised flick of his wrist, began to cut through the soap and stubble.

After a few such strokes he grunted the word, "Towel," to Toby. Barely ten seconds later it was held up to him.

Within five minutes Sweeney was finished, and was using the towel to wipe the last few spots of soap off. Then he stepped away from the mirror, so the man could see himself.

"Thank you," he said, having finished admiring himself from as many directions as possible, "So, how much do I owe you, sir?"

"Four pennies," Todd said, without the slightest hint of hesitation. Or guilt.

"Well, it was worth it," the man said, as reached into his pocket and counted the coins out into the barbers hand. Then he grabbed his hat and coat, and strode out the door.

Sweeney frowned to himself as he watched the man leave. An odd combination of feelings were moving through him. Regret, and anger at watching someone, who would have bleed so nicely, walk out the door. And satisfaction. He wasn't sure why, but it was there.

The sound of new footsteps tore their way into his thoughts, causing him to look away from the door. It was Toby, of course. Toby, making his way back towards the trunk.

_Ah, well. May as well do this properly_, he thought to himself, "Perelli ever pay you, boy?"

Toby stopped in his tracks, and turned his head to look at Sweeney, always careful not to meet those black eyes, "He paid me, sir, by not beating me as often as he usually did."

Sweeney bit back a small flash of anger that rose up. Benjamin Barker had always believed in an honest days pay for an honest days work, and with the emergence of Sweeney Todd that was one of the few things that hadn't changed. He picked out one of the coins with his free hand, and held it out to the boy, "For the duration of the time you spend up here, it'll be one quarter of the days taking that you get."

Toby made no move to take the coin. Not that he had actually expected him to. Resting it on the table, he sat down in his chair. An uneasy, tense silence fell between the two again, and Toby crept back over to the trunk.

After polishing his razor back to a gleam Sweeney began to flick it open and shut.

Toby glanced up at the barber for a few seconds, before looking back at the ground. He was alone with him. Again...

* * *

A.N Well, if you want more, then R & R. Thanks to the few that already have...Remember - a happy writer is a productive one...

Flicks a silver razor open And a productive writer isn't one that's likely to open up the barbers shop again...

LOL.


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